


something wrong, officer?

by ink_quill



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, Butt Plugs, Handcuffs, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Keith (Voltron) is So Done, Lance is a Tease (Voltron), M/M, NSFW, Nipple Play, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Oral Sex, Police Officer Keith (Voltron), Police Officer Shiro (Voltron), Power Bottom Lance (Voltron), Sex Toys Under Clothing, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, Tags Are Hard, Teasing, Top Shiro (Voltron), Vibrators, Worth It, improper use of seat belts, shance, there's fluff if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26280715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ink_quill/pseuds/ink_quill
Summary: In which Officer Shirogane pulls over a driver who appears to be drunk. The strange thing is that the driver is flushed and can't walk straight— but tests clear of any substances.-or-Lance McClain is just vibing along on the highway (quite literally) when a hot police officer interrupts him, though the intrusion isn't all that unwelcome.
Relationships: Lance & Shiro (Voltron), Lance/Shiro (Voltron), Shance - Relationship
Comments: 15
Kudos: 216





	something wrong, officer?

**Author's Note:**

> my literal first smut fic-barely edited- l m f a o h e l p
> 
> no regrets tho  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> okay maybe some

The lights of the city blur into a stream of yellow, orange, and red as Shiro pulls onto the highway. The moon hangs low in the sky, a drooping half-crescent accompanied by a smattering of tiny stars. In the distance, the red lights of car rears blend into a fluid ribbon, twisting and fluttering against the dark background of night. Next to Shiro, the walkie-talkie tossed carelessly into the cup holder crackles to life.

“Eyes peeled, Officer Shirogane,” a voice cautions. “Don’t fall asleep on me now.”

Gaze still fixed forward, Shiro reaches over and presses the black side button. “I won’t,” he says. “Don’t worry.” 

“Tell me that when you don’t show up with two empty coffee cups and eye bags large enough to fit a body or two into,” the voice retorts. “You’ve got twenty more minutes. Hold out until then and don’t come to the station tomorrow. Officer Kogane’s putting in a couple extra hours. Your bed called to tell me it thinks you’re cheating on it.”

“What a passionate kid,” Shiro murmurs, ignoring the quip and easing into a different lane to avoid a large truck, running his fingers through his forelock. 

“Yeah yeah, as if you weren’t ten times worse when you first joined the Garrison.”

Shiro laughs as the speaker bids him a goodnight, the walkie-talkie’s static snapping into silence. He tries not to watch the clock and flips on the radio instead, hoping the noise will keep him alert. The white Honda in front of him signals and pulls left, then left again. It takes Shiro a couple of seconds to realize the silver Acura now in front of him is weaving from side to side, veering dangerously close to the white lines each time.

Shiro fights the urge to groan, irritation clawing up his chest. _Just seven more minutes_ , he wants to shout. _Seven more minutes and you’re no longer my responsibility_. He flips on the siren anyway, taking twisted pleasure in the way the driver flinches visibly.

Shiro unhooks the PA from his dashboard and clicks it on. “Driver in the silver Acura, take the next exit and pull off to the side, _now_.” 

They comply, still weaving slightly as they move to the right. _Blasted drunkard_ , Shiro thinks darkly as he follows the car closely, wondering if the driver will flee, limbs thrumming with anticipation. The driver obediently parks the car once off the highway, however, and Shiro groans audibly this time, wanting nothing but to gun his engine and give into a chase.

He pulls up behind the car, leaving his lights flashing as he grabs his ticket pad and swings open his door. He strides purposefully forward, doing the customary double tap on the Acura’s tail lights before moving up to the driver’s window. It’s already rolled down, the interior lights on, but Shiro’s hand jerks to his side when he sees the man facing down, fumbling with something in the opposite glove box. 

“Hands where I can see them,” Shiro orders, adrenaline sharpening his tone.

The driver flinches again and reluctantly moves his hands up to the wheel. When he turns to face Shiro, the officer nearly drops his pen. The man is drop dead _gorgeous_ , tanned skin rosy in the red lights of the cruiser, eyes a molten azul as he gazes up at Shiro, who notes the dark flush across his cheeks. The anger bleeds out of Shiro just as quickly as he first gained it. 

He flashes his badge at the man. “License?”

The man meekly passes it over, hand shaking slightly. 

“Lance McClain,” Shiro muses. “Are you aware that weaving in traffic is a safety hazard?” When he nods, Shiro sighs. “Exit the car, keep your hands by your sides. Driving under the influence is a crime, which I’m sure you also know.”

“I-I’m not,” Lance says, voice trembling. He gets out of the car slowly, bracing himself on the door. Shiro swallows hard when he emerges, tight jeans accenting long legs that seem to go on for _miles._ A low cut tank top exposes his collarbones, which shine with a light sheen of sweat. Shiro can only imagine what Lance looks like without his clo—

_No._

_But what if_ —

_No._

Swallowing again, Shiro directs him to the edge of the road. “Walk along the white line,” he instructs. Lance complies, steps shaky, slightly unbalanced. Shiro raises an eyebrow when Lance finishes and turns to look at him pitifully. 

“I’m n-not drunk, or high, or anything,” Lance insists.

Shiro clips a mouthpiece to his breathalyzer, holding it up for Lance, before flinching when instead of taking it himself, Lance bends forward to blow into the device, the tendons in his neck flexing. Loose brown hair curls slightly at his nape, and Shiro has to clench a fistful of his uniform to keep himself from touching. Lance's eyes are blown and hazy, and Shiro has to remind himself that it’s because of the alcohol, before freezing when the breathalyzer blips and reads 00.02.

“What?” Shiro finds himself asking before he can help himself.

Lance leans heavily onto the Acura, chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes are bright when he fixes Shiro with a stare. “I told you,” he says, voice pitching slightly higher. “I’m not drunk.” Then, before Shiro can react, Lance leans in closer, forehead dangerously close to Shiro’s own. “But there is… something else. W-wanna know what it is?”

He grins crookedly when Shiro can only stare at him, knowing he should refuse but forgetting how to speak, melting under Lance’s gaze. In a flash, Lance swings open the car door and pushes Shiro square in the chest, who stumbles backwards and lands on the seat with a surprised _oomph_. He struggles to right himself before Lance slips in after him, forcing him against the backrest as he moves to straddle Shiro’s legs. Lance reaches out and pulls the door shut which a thud that resonates in Shiro’s body. 

They’re both silent, Lance breathing hard above Shiro, who tells himself to get out but can’t seem to make his hands move. Shiro shifts when he registers the seat belt pressing into his shoulder blade uncomfortably, and Lance gasps before slapping a hand over his mouth. Shiro freezes, hating himself for the sudden hot burst of arousal that pools into his stomach. His hand brushes against something cold, and he looks down without really thinking to find a small metal remote by his fingertips.

Curiously, he picks it up. Still balanced on Shiro’s thighs, Lance gives a faint little “oh shit” right before Shiro taps one of the buttons. Lance flinches, falling forward to brace himself on Shiro’s shoulders.

A faint buzzing fills the car, and Shiro’s eyes widen.

“You’re not—a vibe? You can’t be—” 

Lance trembles above him, but he’s grinning feral. His hair falls slightly in front of his eyes, which peer up at Shiro, who can’t believe he missed that dark look of lust earlier.

“I can,” Lance hisses, hiccuping out a moan as Shiro’s hips jerk involuntarily, thigh now in between Lance’s legs. Lance is hard, a revelation that coaxes Shiro into full arousal.

Lance looks delighted, reaching down to palm Shiro through the rough material of his uniform. “Is something wrong, officer?” he whispers.

Something in Shiro snaps and he flips Lance, pinning him down to the seat with one hand as he grabs the cuffs at his belt with the other. He pulls Lance in for a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and heaving breaths. Lance pulls away, gasping, cheeks flooding with more color as he tries to push Shiro away but is stopped short, wrists restrained by cold metal.

“Fuck,” he curses, shuddering when Shiro looms above him. 

“You may not be drunk, but weaving on the highway is still a hazard,” Shiro mock-scolds, clicking the remote a couple more times and glorying in the way Lance _whimpers_ and archs. “Now I could write you a ticket…” he pretends to muse. Lance scowls, the effect lessened by the way a moan forces its way past his lips a moment later.

“Or what?” He rasps, lurching forward to knock his chest into Shiro’s shoulder. “You gonna punish me? Fuck me g-good? Teach me to never— _ngh_ —pull a stunt like this again?”

Shiro groans quietly, leaning back in for a kiss which Lance gladly returns, licking his lips when they break apart. “So?” he demands breathily, leaning back, tank top hiking up to reveal a sliver of skin at his hip. “Yes or...mm, no?”

“I don’t have a condom,” Shiro says instead, slipping a finger under the black fabric and pushing it up until it’s bunched up around Lance’s shoulders. He’s muscular but lithe at the same time, so impossibly beautiful Shiro drops his head in sheer awe of it, forelock dragging along Lance’s faint abs. 

Lance mutters something clearly profane and glares at Shiro. “Then what was the whole point of you making m— _augh, fuuuck_.” Shiro drops the remote into the cup holder, watching with satisfaction as Lance pants, head thrown back, the smooth column of his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“N-not f-fair,” he grits out. “You, aah, said y-you weren’t—”

“I didn’t say anything about not wanting to punish you,” Shiro says coyly, slipping off his jacket and watching Lance gulp. “I only said that I didn’t have a condom.” He rests his hand at the juncture between Lance’s hip and thigh, so close but yet so far from where Lance wants him, if the wet circle on the tent of his jeans is any indication. 

Struck by a sudden inspiration, Shiro reaches around Lance to snag the seat belt before pulling it around and clicking it in place.

Lance stares at him in confusion, before Shiro pulls the belt until it hits the end. It clicks when he releases it, locking in place around Lance, who looks equal parts amused and exasperated.

“I wasn’t… nnn, gonna run away or a-anything. Not like, fuck, I could run w-with this plug— _ngh_ —in m-my ass...”

“Didn’t think you were,” Shiro murmurs against Lance’s collarbone. “But the less you can move—” he grinds the palm of his hand against Lance’s arousal, “—the better.”

Lance moans like the sound is punched out of him, then flinches as the vibrator buries itself deeper into him. “Officer S-Shirogane,” he hiccups, eyes flicking down to Shiro’s badge and struggling against the seat belt. A hot burst of pleasure erupts in Shiro’s stomach and his hand finds purchase on Lance’s throat, pushing hard enough that Lance heaves for breath. 

“Sir,” Shiro breathes lowly. “That’s _sir_ to you, McClain.”

Lance narrows his eyes. Slowly, purposefully, he drops his head to place a chaste kiss on the inside of Shiro’s wrist, whose hand is still wrapped around Lance’s throat. “Yes _sir_ ,” he purrs. Lance’s willowy figure is framed by the flashing red and blue lights, and when he jerks and moans when Shiro captures a nipple between his fingers, Shiro feels like it’s the prettiest sound in the world.

Lance flushes and turns his head away from Shiro. “Nnn.. you think I s-sound pretty?” 

Shiro smiles lazily at Lance, grabbing his jaw lightly and forcing him to face Shiro again. “I didn’t intend to say that out loud, but yes…” he ducks down to nip at Lance’s collarbone, tasting the salt on his skin. “...I think _you’re_ very pretty.” He twists Lance’s nipple, _hard_. “Not just your voice.”

Lance _whines_ , grinding down on the hand Shiro slots between his legs, voice hitching as the vibrator pulses harder inside of him. “S-stop switching it h-h-higher—!” he groans.

Shiro leans over him to adjust the seat, pushing the angle back until Lance has to crane his neck to look at Shiro. He eases off Lance’s shoes and socks, then yanks off his pants as well.

Lance chuffs quietly. “Patient, much?” His head drops back to the chair as Shiro repositions himself between Lance’s legs, lifting them up until he can see the base of the plug outlined in Lance’s tight boxers. When he nudges it, Lance _keens_ , bucking down, then groans in frustration as Shiro retracts his hand. He pulls Lance’s boxers off without much preamble, pausing to admire his cock, flushed pink and oozing precum.

“You look close,” Shiro says conversationally, gripping the base of the plug and easing it out.

“N-no shit, Sherlock,” Lance gasps.

Shiro plunges it back in, grinning wickedly as Lance twists, uttering a string of broken moans and profanity. “I think,” he says, reaching for the remote and clicking it to the highest setting, watching Lance writhe against his bonds, “That you’re forgetting the position you’re in.”

Lance looks wrecked and flushed as he pants desperately, head lolling to the side. “W-wha? I… _auugh fuckk_ i-it’s too stro—nghh—sir, please—!” His pupils are blown, eyes teary and hair messy, several locks sticking to his forehead with sweat.

Shiro smooths his hand down Lance’s leg reassuringly, flicking off the remote and waiting as Lance groans, slowly settling back down into the seat.

“Why’d you stop?” he slurs, jolting slightly as Shiro pulls out the plug, dumping it unceremoniously in the cup holder. “Oh gross, that was in my _ass_ you know. 

“Lube?” Shiro asks. Lance shakes his head mutely, eyes widening as Shiro brings his fingers to his lips, sucking on his digits until they shine with spit. Slowly, he brings his hand down to Lance’s ass, fingers probing his taint teasingly.

Lance glowers at him. “I’ve been hard as hell for the past forty minutes or so, _sir_ , so If you don’t hurry up and get your goddamn sexy-ass fingers in me right now, I’m leaving.”

Shiro leans over Lance’s spread legs, gunmetal grey eyes gleaming. “You’re not going _anywhere_ , McClain.” He slips two fingers into Lance, wasting no time in curling them up, searching, until Lance tightens almost painfully and moans softly.

“Here?” Shiro asks, already scraping his nails across the spot, reveling in the absolutely wrecked whimper Lance chokes out.

“W-wait,” Lance gasps, hands straining against the handcuffs. “...’m gonna come—” He gives a strangled yelp as Shiro grabs his cock, squeezing the base tightly.

“Not without permission, you’re not,” Shiro purrs, now insistently probing against Lance’s prostate, drawing tight circles with his fingers as Lance cries out in frustration.

“Please,” he says, voice cracking, hips lifting off the seat as far as the seat belt lets him. “I’m gonna—” Shiro tightens his grip on Lance’s cock, who jerks and bucks, tears now flowing freely.

“Jerk,” Lance spits once he regains his voice. “I was gonna blow you good after this, but now I see there’s no point.”

Shiro freezes. “...you what?”

Lance bares his teeth at Shiro in a half-grin, half-scowl, lips swollen and red. “Get me off in the next two minutes and you’ll find out. If not, I’m leaving, and you…” he lowers a leg to toe at the obvious bulge in Shiro’s pants. “...don’t get to come.”

Shiro jerks away. “Fuck,” he growls, shuddering at the triumphant look Lance throws his way. He twists his fingers, rubbing intently at Lance’s prostate, reaching up to grab Lance by the chin again and pull him into a searing kiss. Lance moans and cries out against Shiro’s mouth, shoulders flexing as he tries to push himself closer. Shiro adds a finger, moving down Lance’s body, biting and nipping at the taunt flesh at his stomach, littering his chest with blooming red marks.

Struck by a thought, Shiro grabs the abandoned vibrator and slides it back into Lance, fumbling around for the remote, then locating it underneath the seat.

Lance jolts as the vibrator jumps to life, whimpering wordlessly as Shiro’s fingers slide in too. The stretch burns, but he wants it harder, deeper, he just wants _more_. Shiro seems to read his thoughts and adds another finger. He pushes harder against Lance’s prostate, using his free hand to angle the vibrator deeper, where his fingers can’t reach.

Lance shouts as he comes, thrashing against the seat belt, cum splattering his belly. His hips stutter from over-sensitivity until Shiro pulls the vibrator out and tosses it back into the cup holder. This time, Lance is too busy panting to complain. 

Neither of them talk. Shiro listens to Lance’s heavy breathing, watching quietly as his eyelashes flutter, smiling softly when Lance opens his eyes and raises himself slightly to look for Shiro.

“Untie me please,” Lance rasps, and Shiro jumps to obey, unlocking the seat belt and inserting his key into the cuffs. Lance rubs his wrists once they’re free, stretching. He yawns and fixes Shiro with a devilish look, then brings his hand to the cum drying on his stomach, swirling his fingers through and reaching up to taste.

“Fuck,” Shiro mutters. His cock takes this moment to remind him he’s still hard, and that it’s painfully constrained within the tough material of his pants.

Lance crawls into the driver’s seat, motioning for Shiro to slide in the now-empty passenger seat, before moving back over to kneel on the floor in front him when Shiro complies.

He wastes no time in unzipping Shiro’s pants and easing down his boxers. Shiro shivers as Lance places a kiss at the tip of his cock. 

“Hurry up,” Shiro groans. 

Lance pauses. “I don’t seem to recall _you_ hurrying when _I_ wanted you to.”

“...sorry,” Shiro says lamely. “But please.”

Lance sighs in a mock show of exasperation before he ducks down, taking inch by inch of Shiro into his mouth until his nose is pressed into the soft black curls at the base of Shiro’s cock. Shiro groans deeply, hands flying down to bury themselves in Lance’s hair as he starts to suck, alternating between humming and swallowing until Shiro can see heaven.

“L-Lance,” he warns. Lance looks up at him and pulls off a wet squelch, replacing his lips with a fist so tight that Shiro moans. 

“You know, my heart dropped to my ass when I heard sirens behind me,” Lance says casually, lips pressed to the tip of Shiro’s cock like it’s a goddamn microphone or something. He pumps Shiro in short, harsh jerks. “When I parked, I tried to turn off the remote before you came ‘round but lo and behold—” he dips his tongue into Shiro’s slit, who curses and throws his head back with a sharp gasp. “—you stop me before I can.”

Lance traces a vein with a finger. “But I mean, I’m not complaining anymore.” Without any warning, he takes Shiro into his mouth again, sucking and licking until heaven swoops down around Shiro and carries him away. It takes him a long moment to realize that Lance had stopped, and is staring at him curiously.

“W-what?” Shiro asks.

“Oh I don’t know,” Lance shrugs. “I just thought you’d be more…” he flicks the tip and smiles slightly as Shiro yelps. “...forceful, maybe?”

This time it’s Shiro’s turn to stare. “You… want me to be forceful?”

“Oh no you don’t have to, but it was pretty fucking hot earlier, so—”

Shiro’s fingers tighten in Lance’s hair, and he pulls back slightly so Lance is looking fully at him. “I thought you’d be tired from before,” he confesses. “But I see that’s not the case.” Before Lance can respond, Shiro forces his head back down onto his cock.

Lance gags, hands flying to rest on Shiro’s legs. Shiro groans again and fucks into Lance’s mouth, snapping his hips forward and keeping his hold on the back of Lance’s head to meet every thrust. He can feel his orgasm creeping closer, but it’s the look that Lance fixes him with—sultry and erotic and beautiful in so many ways—that sends Shiro over the edge.

Lance groans with him, milking him through the orgasm. When Shiro blinks away the white light in his vision, Lance opens his mouth, letting some of the milky fluid drip down his chin before he swallows, laughing as Shiro collapses back onto the seat, hand thrown over his face,

“So, officer,” Lance coos, voice hoarse. “Would you be able to let me off this once~?” Shiro grumbles something into his hand and Lance laughs again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Shiro squints at the time on the dashboard. It reads 3:28am in red letters that swim before him. 

“Woah there,” Lance says as Shiro slumps forward onto him. “You okay?”

“Be quiet… ‘m tired you punk.” 

The last thing Shiro hears as he drifts off is Lance’s laugh, soft and sweet, but still edged with a little roughness.

Shiro wakes with a jolt, momentarily blinded when he lurches into a ray of sun. As he blinks the bright spots out of his vision, the memories of the past night flood back to him, and his cheeks burn. He stretches only to smash his hand into the car’s ceiling. 

“Wha—” 

“What did my car ever do to you?” someone teases. Shiro swivels around, greeted by the ethereal sight of Lance grinning cheerfully at him, illuminated by the sun which turns his skin a dark gold. His eyes are a bright, clear blue, and a hickey peeps out from the edge of his tank top.

“Uh, nothing.” 

Lance blinks and snorts. “Not very eloquent after waking up, are you?”

“Huh?”

“Bahahaha, nevermind.” Lance stretches too, leisurely, the sun catching several lighter strands of brown in his hair that Shiro hadn’t seen in the darkness. “Oh right,” Lance mutters, pointing to the walkie-talkie strapped to Shiro’s belt. “An angry man started yelling from that, thinking you’ve been kidnapped or something.” He gives a sheepish grin. “I told him to fuck off, which probably didn’t help.”

“Probably,” Shiro echos drily, rubbing his temples. “That would be Officer Kolivian. I better get back to the station…”

“You don’t sound too happy about that.”

“Well, thanks to _someone_ —”

“Okay okay I’m sorry, can you blame me for not wanting you to run off before I can get your number?”

“My… number?” Shiro asks blankly.

“Yes,” Lance says matter-of-factly. “Your number. That was by far the hottest fuck I’ve had in my life, and there isn’t a pen in my car so I can’t write _my_ number on your forehead, so we gotta settle for you giving me yours instead.”

A little dazed, Shiro accepts the phone Lance thrusts at him and types his number in. He regains enough sense to save the contact name as “Sir”, imagining Lance’s reaction with a touch of smugness.

“Great,” Lance chirps, snagging his phone back and hopping out of the car, coming around to Shiro’s side to sweep open the door, pantomiming rolling out a carpet. He gestures to the police cruiser behind them. “Your ride awaits. Call me. Or text me. Or both.”

“Both,” Shiro promises. “Thank you.”

Shiro waves as he starts his engine, setting his GPS to the police station. Lance salutes as he drives away, before turning back to his car.

His phone blips and Lance almost hits himself in the face in the rush to answer it. The message's name isn’t Shiro’s, however, and he sighs.

\----------------------------------------

> Keith the emo (8:09am): Lance?

> Lancelot (8:09am): the hell u want

> Keith the emo (8:09am): Can you give me a ride? also jeez, why so mad

> Lancelot (8:10am): wut 4? and its cuz ur not the hot guy i fuvked last night

> Keith the emo (8:11am): ...

> Keith the emo (8:11am): …….

> Keith the emo (8:11am): what the fuck do you mean

> Keith the emo (8:12am): no don’t answer that

> Keith the emo (8:12am): i see you typing, don’t you dare answer me

> Keith the emo (8:12am): i just need a ride to the station, one of the officers went missing so i gotta check in, but pidge broke my car and hunk’s fixing it now

> Lancelot (8:12am): o_o

> Lancelot (8:12am): 0_o

> Lancelot (8:12am): o_0

> Lancelot (8:12am): keith buddy, id luv 2 drive u to the statio

> Lancelot (8:12am): station*

> Keith the emo (8:13am): who tf are you

> Lancelot (8:13am): aight i is heading 2 ur house now

> Keith the emo (8:13am): and what did you do to lance

> Keith the emo (8:13am): no

> Keith the emo (8:13am): go away

> Keith the emo (8:13am): you’re scaring me

> Lancelot (8:14am): >///<

> Keith the emo (8:14am): DiSgUsTiNg

>Lancelot (8:26am): im here get out now 

>Lancelot (8:26am): hurry

>Lancelot (8:26am): hurry

>Lancelot (8:26am): hurry

>Lancelot (8:26am): ill steal ur goddamn dog if u dont come out now

\----------------------------------------

“Are you drunk?”

Lance looks up from his phone and grins. “Keith buddy! I’m glad you’re here. Get in.”

Keith doesn’t move. “Are you drunk?” he repeats stubbornly. 

“On love~” Lance sings. “Wait Keith no, get back here, I’ll stop.”

Keith sighs, opening the car door cautiously. He freezes with a foot in, then backs out again. “It smells like sex,” he growls.

Lance flushes, grabbing a Febreze from the backseat and spritzing the car with Lemongrass Febreze. “No it doesn’t,” he says, tossing it back. “Get in.”

“You’re disgusting,” Keith says, sitting gingerly. Then—“Is that a **_BUTT PLUG??_ ** _”_

Lance grabs it and throws it after the Febreze. “No. It wasn’t. Buckle up.” 

Keith groans and buries his face in his hands. “Tell me when we get there,” he mumbles. “I’m not gonna breathe till we are.”

Lance snorts and starts the car. “Suit yourself buddy. That’s love in the air that you’re missing out on sniffing.”

“It’s lemongrass. And sex. And shut up, you said you’d stop.”

“Aye-aye,” Lance mutters. “As if I didn’t catch you fucking that one muscly—”

Keith slaps him on the arm, face flaming. “Shut. Up.”

When Lance pulls up to the station, Keith reaches for the door, but Lance keeps driving. “Uhh, Lance? You just passed the station…”

“I’m going to the parking lot,” Lance says. “Gotta find someone.”

“...find someone?” Keith freezes. “Oh my god, don’t tell me that you and Officer Shirogane—”

Lance darts out of the car and slams the door behind him. “No idea what you’re talking about, buddy. Let’s go.”

“I hate you,” Keith mutters as he trails behind Lance, swiping his card at the door Lance pauses at. “I hate you so much.” Lance turns to grin at him before running smack into a wall.

A wall that moves to steady Lance.

A wall that gasps and stares at him with gunmetal eyes.

A wall that whispers, “Lance?”

“Hey babe,” Lance coos.

Keith stalks past them, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like _get a room_.

Shiro flushes and Lance blows a kiss after Keith. “Bye!” he calls, grabbing Shiro’s arm and hauling him towards the parking lot.

“W-what’s happening?” Shiro stutters. 

“Are you free right now?”

“Well, yeah, but where are we going?”

Lance reaches his car and swivels around. Shiro gulps at his expression.

“Round two, featuring lemongrass febreze,” Lance says, a hungry light in his eyes. “And this time, you’re the one who’ll be buckled in nice and tightly— _sir_.”

**Author's Note:**

> i can either 1) leave this as a single chapter or 2) add one or two more chapters of this shance goodness
> 
> you decide ;v; cuz I can't--tell me whatchu want and I'll most likely deliver because pEeR pReSsUrE 
> 
> also, if you have any ideas of voltron pairing or certain scenes, NSFW or SFW, feel free to throw them at me. if i see something i like, it'll probably haunt me until i write it, so it's a win-win(?) situation
> 
> please tell me what you thought! i don't have much experience writing smut so feedback and advice would be really appreciated >_<
> 
> \\(o-o)/ hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
